Impressions
by Emi-Lynn
Summary: First impressions are hard to forget, but what happens when we take the time to see a second? OR How long does it take for two men to get a clue?  Hopefully, not too long because the rest of the team might explode from the anticipation.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n - yep, new story. Written for the Hobby Challenge. Deadlines are a wonderful thing to keep a writer motivated.**

**During Backfired, someone asked how different it would have been if the team had not been left out of the loop. Well, you know how my mind works. Those that were the last to know are now the first. I'm not 100% sure the M rating will be necessary for a while, but at least it keeps the lazy children from bothering the rest of the grown-ups. Speaking of lazy children, have you read the new gen story I'm posting on my other profile? I think you'll enjoy the team's reaction to the bad guy or should I say bad girl. Very, very bad girl.**

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><p>Impressions<p>

"McGee able to leave on time?"

Gibbs looked up in surprise at Vance's question as he shut down his own computer. "All three of them left about twenty minutes ago, why?"

"Apparently he's helping the local LEO's with an undercover drug operation tonight. I appreciate his initiative in working with other agencies. Makes us look good at budget time."

"Good night, Director." Gibbs was in the elevator and headed to his car before he realized he had no idea where the sting was happening. A quick phone call sent him in the direction of a park not far from McGee's apartment. He stopped at a coffee shop down the street from McGee's place for his usual and a newspaper before casually sitting on one of the benches at the park. Watching carefully, he spotted McGee walking his dog around the perimeter of the park.

At first glance it looked like McGee didn't have much control over the large animal, but then Gibbs realized that their wandering path was because Jethro was on the trail. Becoming more impressed, he continued to observe as McGee used the dog's energetic movements as cover, carefully speaking into his wrist as he rubbed his head in what looked like frustration. It was only the inside knowledge that allowed Gibbs to see that man and dog were tracking bags of cocaine that the dealers would hide up in the tall pine trees.

The take-down, when it happened, was a thing of beauty as wild mongrel and harried owner instantly transformed into a well-oiled machine. The two dealers separated, running in opposite directions to maximize their chances for escape. McGee dropped the leash, chasing one of them down, outrunning several of the cops also moving in, while Jethro bounded after the other, knocking him flat with a flying leap.

Gibbs was on his feet the second he'd heard McGee's yell, discarding the paper and cup as he cut across the park to back up his man. By the time he arrived, McGee had his suspect in cuffs and handed over to the LEO's and was grinning down at the second suspect who had given up trying to get out from under Jethro.

As he watched, McGee gave a short whistle and Jethro immediately returned to his side while several officers handcuffed the second suspect and roughly pulled him to his feet. Now that the situation was contained and his questions would not be a distraction, Gibbs walked the rest of the way over to McGee.

"Hey, Boss, did we get a call-out?"

Gibbs wanted to roll his eyes at the obtuseness of the man. "You don't get enough of chasing bad guys on the job, McGee?"

"This is my neighborhood, Gibbs. This is where I take Jethro for a run every night. When Scott told me the park was being used to move cocaine and asked if I could help, I wasn't going to say no. Especially not after they lost one of their dogs last week."

Scott was Lt. Scott O'Neil from Silver Spring's narcotics unit, that much Gibbs knew, and the death of one of the police drug detection dogs had been on the news almost daily since the car accident. "Not suggesting otherwise, McGee, just don't do it behind my back again."

"I wasn't hiding anything. As per regulations I notified the Director in writing before joining the operation."

Gibbs resisted the temptation to head-slap the man in front of the local cops. "I'm not talking about regulations, I'm talking about letting me know. How can I watch your back if I don't know what's going on?"

Eyebrow raised, he waited and watched. He saw when McGee finally got it when the shy smile crossed the younger man's face. "Sorry, Boss, I didn't think about it that way. Scott and the guys have been great about letting Jethro and me use their training facilities and going with them when they're short a team is pretty much second nature by now."

The fact that McGee was so comfortable with a team that wasn't his own bothered Gibbs, but this wasn't the place to talk about it. "You about done here?"

"Yeah, let me just check in with Scott for a minute. Jethro, you stay with Gibbs, alright?" He bent down and gave the dog a treat before handing the leash over to Gibbs. Not familiar with handling a working dog, Gibbs automatically wrapped the leash around his wrist as he noted how comfortable McGee was with the local police.

As Gibbs watched, McGee joined a group of officers. They greeted him easily, laughing, talking and patting his back as if he was a part of their inner circle. Attention focused elsewhere, he didn't notice when Jethro's nose twitched and he stilled, watching a powder covered squirrel come down out of one of the trees.

Eighty pounds of fur covered muscles against an unsuspecting man, by the time Gibbs registered what was happening, he was airborne. Unable to let go of the leash, it was all he could do to protect his face as he was dragged through the mud.

"Jethro, halt." The deep, booming voice stopped the dog instantly, but it took Gibbs a minute to realize that it had been McGee's voice. He was still climbing to his feet when the younger man arrived.

"Crap, you okay, Boss?" Gibbs glared at him, ignoring the snickering behind them as McGee snapped his fingers and pointed down next to him. The chastised dog slunk over to sit against McGee's leg.

McGee stared at his boss in both horror and amusement, not quite able to stop the twitching of his jaw. The older man had bounced back up easily enough to suggest that he wasn't injured, but he was covered head to toe in mud, seriously negating the glare he was directing at his agent. "You want to get cleaned up at my place before you drive home?"

Gibbs handed over the leash before wiping at the mud on his face and flinging it off of his hands. "Ya' think, McGee?"

-NCIS-

A park service hose had taken care of the worst of the mud, but it was still a dirty, wet and cold Gibbs that followed McGee into his apartment. Jethro immediately retreated to his bed in the corner as McGee began to speak, suddenly nervous at the thought of Gibbs actually in his apartment. "The bathroom is right through there, Boss. I'll get you some warm sweats and if you toss your clothes out, I'll take them down to the laundry room and get them started."

After watching McGee interact with the narcotics detectives, Gibbs hated to see the return of the shy, nervous version of his agent. "Appreciate it, McGee. How long have you lived here?" He glanced around the apartment, it was nothing like the tiny, dark apartment DiNozzo had described back when Tim had joined the team. A sea of fresh greens and reds caught his attention and he moved further into the living room.

"It's been a few years, my old place was way too small for a dog Jethro's size." McGee knew exactly what had caught the older man's attention and waited for the question.

"You're growing tomatoes in February?"

"Hydroponics, Boss, you can grow pretty much year-round" Tim's voice raised as he pulled out a pair of sweats and several towels for Gibbs. "I started out with greens for salads when I was losing weight, but there's nothing better than a vine ripened tomato on a BLT, especially in the off season."

"Is that an offer, McGee?" Gibbs could feel his mouth watering at the sight of several large tomatoes ready to pick.

Surprised, McGee returned from dropping his load on the bathroom counter. "Sure, I guess. I was planning on BLT's and some soup tonight. You're welcome to join me." To prove his point, he walked over and harvested four tomatoes and took them back into the kitchen.

Once Gibbs was in the bathroom, McGee let his head fall back to hit the wall as he wondered exactly had possessed him to invite Gibbs to stay for dinner. He glared at the dog. "This is all your fault, Mutt. You know better."

The bathroom door opened and closed as Gibbs set the basket of his clothes out in the hallway. A minute later, the shower came on. Tim started preheating the broiler before taking the clothes down to the basement laundry room.

-NCIS-

Warm, clean and working on dry, Gibbs wrapped one of the towels around his waist when he heard knocking at the door and continued to dry his hair as he walked across the living room. "What'd you do, McGee, forget your keys?" He swung the door open to find a heavy-set, older woman with bright red hair.

She smiled, looking him up and down. "Well, I guess this explains why I can't catch Tim's attention."

Something about the woman set his teeth on edge. "Your loss, my gain. And you would be?"

"Veronica Parsons, but my friends call me Ronnie." She leaned forward as she played with a straining button on her blouse.

He wasn't buying it. "Well, Ms Parsons, can I give Tim a message, or is that for him?" Gibbs pointed out the large envelope in her other hand.

She held it up, still smirking. "So, you boys ever like to come out and play?"

"No, we don't." They both looked up to see McGee arriving back. "It's not necessary to hand deliver my mail, Ms Parsons."

"This one looked special and I had to sign for it." Veronica tapped it against her cleavage, hoping one of them would take the bait, but Gibbs moved back into the apartment to let McGee deal with her. Tim was just locking the door when Gibbs came back out of the bathroom dressed in McGee's sweats.

To give McGee privacy while he read the registered letter, Gibbs wandered through the apartment, noting several oil paintings on the wall. It was the faint smell of synthetic turpentine that drew him closer to one, close enough to notice the familiar signature at the bottom.

"You painted this? You're just full of surprises tonight, McGee." Questions forming in his mind fast and furious, Gibbs came closer to sit at the counter and watch McGee work in the kitchen. "So, you cook, too?"

"Nothing fancy, just the basics, Boss." He might claim nothing fancy in the kitchen, but Gibbs had never seen anyone mix brown sugar and chili powder and sprinkle bacon with it. Once the bacon was under the broiler, McGee turned his attention back to the registered letter. Gibbs would have been worried, but the more the younger man read the paper, the happier he seemed to be.

"Good news?"

"Yeah, kinda." Without elaborating further, McGee slid the letter back in the envelope and stuck it up on the refrigerator before filling a pot with a deli carton of soup.

Fifteen minutes later food was set on the counter and McGee joined him, sitting in the stool to Gibbs' left. Gibbs ignored the thick black bean soup for the moment and picked up the sandwich. He hadn't recognized the labels on either the bread or the mayonnaise and McGee only mentioned a local farmer's market in passing, so he wasn't sure what to expect. It was really all about the tomatoes however, and he grinned at the sight of the thick red slab.

-NCIS-

For Tim McGee, the evening had taken on a surreal quality the moment he'd seen his boss bodysurfing through the mud, propelled by Tim's over-eager dog. The arrival of his landlady, always on the hunt for fresh man meat, hadn't helped the situation at all, especially when Gibbs opened the door to her wearing only a towel slung low on his hips.

Now Gibbs was sitting at his breakfast bar, waiting to be fed and with a dozen questions obviously on his mind. To give himself time, Tim concentrated on the food. His weight loss the previous year had been the butt of many jokes by DiNozzo and virtually ignored by the rest of the team, but it had been the result of replacing take out with healthy, traditionally cooked foods and many hours running with Jethro through the park. He'd learned to concentrate on the flavors of the food, adding small touches of good quality fats and higher calorie items to what he fixed. Instead of the bland, mass produced Miracle Whip of his childhood, he spent the extra money on a gourmet mayonnaise produced in small batches and only sold locally. The artisan bread came from the same year-round stand, while the bacon was from a small meat shop that hand prepared and smoked all their own meats.

As the deli soup warmed on the stove, Tim sliced the tomatoes and bread. The tomatoes were sprinkled with some fresh herbs while the bread was toasted. Once the bacon was done, he layered it all together, adding the baby lettuce leaves he'd harvested the day before.

Gibbs sniffed appreciatively at the bowl of soup when McGee set it in front of him, but his attention was on the thick sandwich that Tim sliced in half before sliding it on the plate. As Tim watched in amusement, Gibbs took a large bite, his eyes rolling back as he moaned. There was an expression on the older man's face that Tim had never seen before as he thoroughly enjoyed the mouthful he was slowly chewing.

"Guess you like it?"

"McGee, I have married for less than this." Grinning, Gibbs wiped some mayo from the corner of his mouth and sucked it off his thumb.

Tim couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, but I'm not that easy." He froze when his brain caught up with his mouth, but Gibbs was laughing, too.

"It's a good thing, otherwise that neighborhood cougar would have her claws into you. What's her story, anyways?" Gibbs took another bite as he waited for an answer.

"She's my landlady, I just stay one step out of her reach."

Gibbs started to wonder about McGee's self-preservation skills. "You really rented from her?"

"Her ex-partner, actually. He died a few months after I moved in."

"What'd she do, wear him out?" While McGee spluttered, Gibbs returned to his food with a smirk.

The soup was good, but it was the sandwich that made the meal to Gibbs. Seeing this, Tim loaded a plate with the remaining tomato, bacon and lettuce and set it and the jar of mayonnaise next to Gibbs before turning his attention to slicing and toasting more of the bread.

"You could have had this for lunch tomorrow." Even as he voiced his objections, Gibbs took the offered bread and slathered on a thick layer of mayo before piling the rest of the ingredients on it.

"It's not as good the next day when the bacon's cold and if I warm it up in the microwave, it's just not the same."

After making his sandwich, there was one slice of bacon left, and Gibbs broke a piece off and popped it into his mouth. "How'd you learn to fix bacon like this?"

"Broiler's less messy than frying it on the stove."

Gibbs shook his head as he licked his fingers. "No, I mean the brown sugar and the chili powder."

"A roommate I had in college was from Alabama. Since my family was stationed overseas, I'd go home with him on school vacations." Tim broke off his own piece from the remaining bacon. "That's the way his grandmother would fix her bacon, just with a whole lot more brown sugar."

"It must have been hard, having your family so far away while you were in college." Gibbs thought through what he knew of McGee, realizing how superficial that knowledge was. "You started pretty young, sixteen, right?"

"Actually, I was fifteen, I missed a semester after I broke my leg. The only reason I got to go back to MIT was the fact that Preston's family agreed to step in as my legal guardians when my folks went to Asia."

"Your folks were okay with that?"

Somehow, having the man sitting in his apartment, eating his food, made it easier to tell him. "I think my dad decided that it would be less embarrassing than having me go to court to become emancipated."

"I thought you were close to your parents."

"Things are better now." McGee picked up what was left of the last slice of bacon and split it in half, offering one to Gibbs. He took it, understanding the implied end of that subject, so he tried another approach.

"You and Jethro looked pretty comfortable working with the locals out there tonight."

"Yeah, I enjoy working with Scott and his team." Realizing how that could have sounded, Tim rushed to explain. "I'm not thinking about changing agencies or anything, it's just..."

"It's just what, Tim?"

"I'm the least experienced agent on the team and it doesn't matter how long I've worked or what else I've learned, I'll always be the least experienced agent. Sometimes it just nice to be treated like an equal."

When Gibbs suddenly fell silent, McGee shrugged and left to go downstairs and put the wash in the dryer.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n - Wow, you guys like this one. Thanks for the wonderful reviews. If you're looking for the bacon recipe, go to food network's website and search for brown sugar bacon. There's several versions (dijon mustard instead of chili powder is one option). Because in this story Tim's interest in cooking is based on his desire to lose weight, he cut way back on the brown sugar. You certainly don't have to :) BTW, my other profile will be posting the next chapter of a story tomorrow morning, _Once More_. That is, if you're interested in reading _with Feeling_ about the villain, Greta.**

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><p>Alone in the apartment, except for the dog, Gibbs found himself drawn back to the painting on the wall. He recognized the waterfall in the painting, a famous landmark near Pembroke, and remembered having a picnic there with Shannon the day she told him they were going to be parents. Not knowing how dry it was, his hand hovered over the surface as he took in the details, wishing he had his reading glasses with him. Lost in the image and the memories, he didn't even hear the door open.<p>

"I did that one about a month ago, the weekend after we found Admiral Hopkins' grandson."

Gibbs bit back a chuckle as he remembered the case. The worried father, the hysterical mother, and the embarrassed sixteen year old young man who was found in bed with three ladies of the evening, paid for with the grandfather's stolen credit card. Tony had been impressed with the boy's initiative, Vance had been furious with the wasted manpower and the grandfather's reaction had convinced them all to leave DC until the dust settled. "That was a good weekend to get the hell out of Dodge."

"Oh, yeah." Tim came closer, smiling at the memory. "I called the studio where I've been taking lessons and booked the only out of town workshop they had that weekend, sight unseen. I didn't even ask the price or what we were painting."

"It's a beautiful painting, so it was well worth it." Gibbs waved his hand at the other paintings on the walls. "Are these the only three you've done?"

"Nah, those are just the most recent ones. As I finish one I swap it out with one already on the wall. Gives them a chance for the paint to really get hard. The rest are stacked in a closet." McGee noticed the wistful expression on Gibbs' face as he continued to stare at the painting. "You recognize the waterfall, Boss?"

"Had some good times there, years ago." Gibbs seemed to shake himself free of the memory as he turned back to McGee. "So, when did you start learning to paint?"

McGee walked back to the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee. "Watching Kate draw always fascinated me, so I started with a drawing class. With our schedule, it took me almost a year to get all the way through the course, but the ladies that own the studio were really cool about letting me bounce in and out between cases. A workshop I was signed up for got canceled, but we were out on a case and I didn't get the message. When I showed up, they felt really bad and offered to let me sit in on an oil painting class for free. One class and I was hooked."

"Do you still draw?" Gibbs watched as McGee glanced over at a notebook on the side table. "May I?"

"Sure, if you want." Tim wasn't extremely surprised and handed over the notebook before getting down some cups. By the time the coffee was done, Gibbs was intently studying the various sketches and finished drawings.

Gibbs accepted the offered cup purely by instinct as he looked through the pages. Kate's drawings had been bold, with strong lines, very much indicative of the woman she had been. McGee's work was much more subtle. Even his quick sketches were formed more by shading and less by heavy line work. His more complex drawings, much like his paintings, were filled with hours of painstaking details. "Tim, these are amazing. They should be framed and hung up instead of stuck away in a book." When McGee started to argue, Gibbs cut him off. "Hey, you know me. I'm not one for flattery or trying to boost someone's ego. These are good, really good, so are your paintings, better than I've seen in some galleries."

Knowing better than to argue at this point, McGee blushed bright red as he stammered out his admission. "Thanks, Boss. That... that registered letter was for a juried show. I, um, I had a piece accepted."

"Good for you, the waterfall?"

Tim watched the older man look back over at what was obviously his favorite piece in the apartment. "Since that's from a workshop, it doesn't qualify."

The raised eyebrow asked as clearly as if Gibbs had spoken and McGee automatically answered. "I submitted a fall scene from some photos I took at Shenandoah last October." The eyebrow continued to go up, but there was a twinkle in the blue eyes that watched him. "That painting's not here, it's at the studio. Maggie and Helen insisted that I get it custom framed."

"Something a little fancier?" Gibbs hadn't commented, but the plain black frames did nothing for the rich colors of the paintings on the wall.

He shrugged. "Yeah, more detailed and stained to tie in with that exact painting. When I'm just going to take it out of the frame and stick it in the closet, I don't bother."

"What do you do? Just leave the frames up and swap out the paintings?"

"Actually, yeah." Tim pulled the waterfall painting off the wall and easily popped it out of the frame. Gibbs could see that it was hung with a sawtooth hanger at the top of the frame instead of the traditional wire across the back of the canvas. "They stack easier without the frame. You can have this one if you like."

The uncertainty he saw in those expressive green eyes told Gibbs that this was a rare offer. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. If it stays here, it'll just go into the closet in a few weeks and it seemed to bring back happy memories for you."

Usually, he kept his memories of Shannon close to his heart, but Gibbs found himself pointing to a small spot of smooth greens. "Shannon and I had a picnic right there, in that clearing. That was the day she told me we were going to be parents."

"Then you really need to take this home with you." Tim made sure that it was firmly in Gibbs' hands.

"Thank you, McGee... Tim, this means a lot." McGee was half way to the door to retrieve Gibbs' clothes from the dryer before the older man spoke again. "Hey, make sure you carry your drawing kit with you from now on, alright?"

-NCIS-

Something was different, DiNozzo was sure of it when he walked into the bullpen only five minutes late that morning. Ziva seemed the same, so he turned his attention to his two other teammates. Gibbs was leaned over McGee, talking quietly and while Tony watched, Gibbs straightened and took one of the two coffees from the tray on McGee's desk before walking away. He waited a minute before bouncing up and scurrying across to sit on the corner of McGee's desk.

"You buttering up the Boss already, McGee?"

"What?"

"I bought the coffee this morning, DiNozzo." Tony jumped when Gibbs walked back in, unannounced. "Does that mean I'm the one buttering up McGee?"

"No, of course not, Boss. You'd never need to butter anyone up, even if Tiny Tim here could use a bit of butter."

"DiNozzo!"

"Shutting up now, Boss." He glared at McGee who smirked back at him before enjoying his coffee.

The next clue came just as the lunch hour rolled around, giving them all a break from the paperwork. When the food arrived, Gibbs grabbed both his and McGee's receipts.

"Boss?"

"Hey, I ate you out of house and home yesterday, buying lunch is the least I can do."

Much to Tony's surprise, McGee grinned as if it were an old joke. "You didn't totally wipe me out; there was a few pieces of lettuce left."

Gibbs actually walked over to McGee's desk with his food, leaned over and whispered something in his ear, making him grin even wider before Gibbs ruffled his hair. While Tony was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on, Gibbs reached into the top drawer of McGee's desk and whatever he retrieved, he popped in his mouth before Tony could see what it was.

For his part, Gibbs was a happy camper when he sat back down. He'd been half joking when he told McGee that he was keeping track of when the next tomatoes would be ripe, but in response the younger man had opened his desk drawer to offer part of his stash of cherry tomatoes. The baffled look on DiNozzo's face made him chuckle as he tore into his own lunch.

From her own desk, Ziva watched the exchange, craning to see into the open desk drawer. Unsuccessful, she shrugged at Tony before concentrating on her own food.

-NCIS-

The call came in about an hour after lunch. Gibbs was already on his feet before he slammed the phone down. "Gear up, dead Marine in a hit and run."

The local LEO's had the area blocked off and the scene preserved. Gibbs gave a quick look around as the officer in charge came up to him. "Looks like the car cut through the park at a high rate of speed. Your Marine was hit saving a couple of kids."

Gibbs gave a terse nod before barking out orders. "DiNozzo."

"Sketch and shoot. Got it, Boss."

"No." They all turned and stared when the usual orders changed. "I want McGee to sketch and shoot this time. Ziva, you confirm the victim's identity, then bag and tag. Tony, you're going to get the witness statements started. I'll join you after I check in with Ducky."

"Witness statements?" Tony looked over at the dozen or more crying children, surrounded by equally upset parents. "Umm, Boss?"

"Start with the calmest kid that has a parent already here, I won't be long." Gibbs nodded at him before turning to McGee. "Got everything you need?"

McGee looked a little nervous, but determined. "Yes, Boss."

-NCIS-

"What do we have, Ducky?" Gibbs bent down to take a closer look at the body. Young and fit with the familiar haircut, he looked too healthy and vibrant to be gone from this world, at least until you looked past the face and saw the crushing injury to his chest and the tire tracks across his shirt.

Dr. Mallard lifted the torn fabric and palpitated the area. "Massive trauma to the chest, Jethro. This poor lad never stood a chance."

Ziva arrived with the portable fingerprint scanner. Gibbs watched her fumble with it for a minute. "Problem, David?"

"McGee makes this look so easy. Why isn't he doing this?"

"Why does he carry a gun when you're such a good shot? We all need the basic knowledge for the job."

On her third attempt, the machine beeped, giving her an identity. "He is Lance Corporal Willis Carter, returned last week from Afghanistan."

"Alright, let's see how he was killed."

-NCIS-

"Show me what you've got."

"Sure, Boss." McGee flipped back several pages to show his sketch of the park. "The car came out from the service road here and then cut across, just in front of those trees instead of making the loop. He lost control here and again here, probably picking up speed as he went. He ended up on the sidewalk right here next to the swing set. It looks like the deceased was standing over here, at least that's where he dropped his pack."

Gibbs was able to visualize what happened next as he looked at the detailed birds-eye view McGee had drawn. "Lance Corporal Carter probably ran through those bushes and shoved the two kids out of the way. He went down, the car went over him. Where'd the car go from there?"

"Made it to the street right over there, hitting a parked car in the process. I've already put in a call for the traffic camera footage and we've got paint transfer. If we find the car, we can positively ID it."

"Good job, McGee."

"Thanks, Boss, any luck with the kids, were they able to tell you anything?"

"No more than you already have, probably. The car was big and blue and kinda square. Come on, maybe you've got some ideas." Gibbs turned and walked over to where Tony was finishing with the last of the parents. The two kids that had been saved were still crying, but most of the rest had calmed down. The ones that did not see enough had been sent home with their families, leaving only a few children at the scene. Nevertheless, DiNozzo seemed grateful for their arrival.

Gibbs got right down to business, asking the kids about the car. He might have been expecting McGee to start drawing a possible vehicle, but instead, McGee pulled up images of cars on his phone, adding and eliminating as Gibbs coaxed more details out of the children. Tony leaned close to McGee, giving suggestions as to possible makes and models until the stream of information dried up.

McGee squatted down in front of the kids. "Hey, guys, I've got some pictures of cars that I want you to look at, okay? You just look at all of them and then tell me which ones look like the car you saw today, all right?" The first picture was of the animated car Roger Rabbit drove, which made the kids laugh, relaxing them a bit, and easing the process. Quickly all the children picked car number four as the one, but informing the agents that their suspect's car was shorter and had fancier wheels. A BOLO was issued for an early 70's Monte Carlo, possibly lowered.

With the change in mood of the kids, DiNozzo tried again to get details about the driver. One of the girls piped up and announced that he looked like a fat Marc Anthony. Another child remembered that he had bad skin. Tony hurriedly wrote down every detail as it was remembered, not paying attention to McGee who was now in back of him with his sketchbook.

One of the mothers noticed what McGee was doing, which brought the attention of the kids. McGee sat on the ground, his sketchbook in his lap, while DiNozzo continued with the questioning. They made a good pair, Gibbs soon realized, with Tony asking detailed questions and McGee translating the answers into the developing image of their suspect.

Grateful to not deal with screaming children, Ziva was happy to be bagging and tagging the evidence. McGee had helped for a few minutes as they were tracing the path of the car, but had disappeared soon after, reporting to Gibbs with his drawings of the scene. Now that she was done, she was surprised to find McGee sitting on the grass surrounded by children, with Tony squatting down next to him. Gibbs asked if she was done, but never took his attention off her teammates as they worked. Stunned, she watched as an image developed on the paper, stopping one of the local patrol officers in his tracks.

"That's Carlos Martinez. He's a tweaker we've busted for dealing a few times."

McGee was already logging into the system. "He's got a 1973 Monte Carlo registered to him, lives less than a mile from here."

"Let's go pay Mr. Martinez a visit."

-NCIS-

"It's a good thing we're not paying your team by minute, Gibbs, your team would go broke. That's got to be the fastest case we've ever closed." Vance leaned back in his chair smiling. It had felt good to inform Lance Corporal Carter's commanding officer that his killer was already in custody. "Solid case?"

"Solid as they come. The blood on the car hadn't even dried yet. We've got the car positively ID'd from the traffic cameras and he matches the drawing we have of the suspect." Gibbs tapped the file he'd laid on the desk. "DNA will positively confirm that's the car that killed Carter. The lab is also matching up the tire tracks along with the vegetation caught in the undercarriage. Plant DNA can even pinpoint which of the torn up bushes it came from."

"The miracles of modern science." Vance picked up the file and opened it to the sketch of their suspect. "But how did you get lucky enough to have an artist as one of the witnesses?"

Gibbs didn't even try to cover the pride in his voice. "We didn't. McGee drew that based on DiNozzo's interviews of the kids."

"McGee drew this, and DiNozzo handled all those screaming kids?" Vance wasn't sure which half of that statement boggled him the most. "I'm almost afraid to ask what Agent David was doing."

"Her job, Leon, like they all were. McGee's a damn good artist, and now that I know, well, let's just say that I found out a lot last night."

"McGee's drug bust from last night?"

"It was," Gibbs struggled to find the right word. "Informative."

Vance carefully watched the other man. "So, what are you going to do with what you learned, Gibbs?"

"Hey, contrary to popular belief, this old dog can still learn a few new tricks." Gibbs stood and took back the file. "Besides, it keeps DiNozzo on his toes."

Laughing, Vance had to agree.

-NCIS-

"I do not believe we have ever had a case solved so easily."

Tony was leaning back in his chair, tapping his chin with a pen. "What part would you consider the easiest, Agent David? The fact that he was too stupid to even run his car through a car wash, or maybe the fact that he was so stoned he didn't heat us kick the door down?"

Tim grinned at his teammates. "The fact that he was sleeping on over two hundred thousand dollar's worth of heroin was a nice touch, too."

"Yes, it was." Tony popped up and made his way over to McGee's desk, shaking the pen he still held in his hand. "Speaking of nice touches, you've been holding out on us, McMonet."

Ziva stood and joined him. "Yes, I had no idea you could draw like that. Why have you never mentioned it before?"

McGee shrugged, not looking either of them in the eye. "Tony's always done the sketching for the team since Kate died."

"Yeah, because it needed to be done and as senior agent, Gibbs expects me to fill in any gaps within the team." Tony bent down to force McGee to look at him. "You should have told me you could do that."

Tim saw a lot of emotions cross Tony's face, none of them angry or threatened. "Back then I couldn't even do a stick figure. After she died, I missed her so much... I remembered where she would buy her art supplies and I stopped there one day. I'm not really sure why I went, but they were giving classes, so I signed up for one. Then, I just kept going."

"Gibbs now knows, that is why he changed up the assignments today, is it not?"

"Of course Gibbs knows, Ziva. I bet he found out last night, when McGee was feeding him dinner." Tony waggled his eyebrows at McGee. "Is that how you got him up to your apartment, Probie? Offered to show him your etchings? That's the oldest trick in the book."

"Actually, he offered me a bath." Smirking, Gibbs walked past, doling out two headslaps as he went by. "You two get back to work. Let's see if we can get the paperwork done as fast as we solved the case."


	3. Chapter 3

"Good night, Boss." McGee swung his backpack onto his shoulder as he finished shutting down his computer, the rest of the team just moments behind him.

Gibbs looked up and nodded. "Good night, McGee. You moonlighting tonight?"

"No, not tonight, I think they're still doing paperwork. Scott said something about going before the Grand Jury in the morning. Don't worry, Boss, I'll tell you first from now on. See you in the morning, Tony, Ziva."

DiNozzo was still trying to figure out what they meant when the elevator door closed behind McGee. "Moonlighting, Boss?"

"He's been working with the narcotics unit in Silver Spring, helped them take down some pretty big dealers." Hoping to make it to his favorite woodworking store before they closed, Gibbs finished shutting down his own computer.

"The Director ask him to do that?"

"Nope."

"Then why? With our hours, you'd think he'd have enough work for one day." Tony looked over at Ziva who shrugged. She, too, enjoyed the limited down time they had.

Gibbs knew he could tell them that it was his neighborhood, that he was close to the dog handler who'd been severely injured in the accident that killed his dog, that Jethro enjoyed using his skills even if the canine were officially retired. Instead, he told them the one thing that had struck him the most. "It's his one chance to be treated as an equal."

"What?" Tony sat straight up, staring at Gibbs.

"He's the least experienced agent on our team, and no matter how hard he works or how much he learns, he'll always be the least experienced member of the team. Look at it from that end, Tony."

It was Ziva that verbalized it first. "It would be very frustrating to never have one's new skills and abilities utilized or even acknowledged."

"Are we going to lose him, Boss?"

"Nope." Gibbs smiled to himself as he could see Tony relax slightly. "But it would be nice if he felt that way around here one in a while." Letting them think about it, Gibbs left for the evening. Ziva was packed and on the next elevator, while DiNozzo stayed, thinking about the day, before he started pulling files.

-NCIS-

"Starting a new boat, Gibbs?" Portly, with a weathered complexion, Harry Meyers had been selling hardwood and exotic lumber for over thirty years.

"Nope, show me what you've got in picture frame moulding." An hour later, Gibbs was standing at the cash register with eight feet of a wide profile oak moulding, a much better quality miter box and a heavy duty point driver.

Harry shook his head as he rang up the sale. "Much as I appreciate the business, a ready made frame would have been a whole lot cheaper. I hope you're going to be eventually making more than one frame, Gibbs."

"Planning on it, Harry."

-NCIS-

It was Tony's morning to pick up breakfast, so McGee wasn't surprised that only Ziva was in the squad room. A coat draped over his chair and an empty coffee cup in the trash showed that Gibbs was someplace in the building "Good morning, Ziva."

"Good morning, McGee." She watched as he settled in at his workstation. "Is that a new backpack? I do not believe I have ever seen it before."

The question surprised him. "Yeah, since..." His phone interrupted their conversation. "McGee... hey, Tony, what's up?"

_~Probie, do you want a breakfast burrito or a smoothie?~_

The question threw him for a minute, not because it was a difficult decision, but because Tony had bought the same sausage and egg burrito for him every Friday for the last five years. "You know, actually a smoothie does sound kinda good this morning, but not mango."

-NCIS-

Tony was in the food court, between the smoothie shop and the Mexican restaurant that was their usual Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning haunt, grinning at the surprise he heard in McGee's voice. "All right, no mango so you don't have to fight off the ninja. Today's special is strawberry peach."

_~Oh, that sounds good. Thanks, Tony.~_

As he listened, Ziva passed on her breakfast request, also opting for the new smoothie flavor. There was a pause as apparently Gibbs arrived and the question was repeated. Tony started chuckling. "Let me guess, you're getting the death glare. Okay, one breakfast burrito for Gibbs."

It wasn't until DiNozzo was back and they were almost done eating that Ziva remembered the backpack. "McGee, you were telling me why you changed to a different backpack."

Surprised to find three expectant faces waiting for an answer, Tim choked out his response as he tried to swallow. "After yesterday, I decided to carry a full sized sketchbook but it wouldn't fit in my work backpack."

"So you had to buy another one? It does not look new, McGee."

"It's not new, Ziva." He wasn't quite sure why they were even discussing it. "I bought it years ago for my drawing supplies. It was easier to adapt it to what I needed for work than to try to make my work backpack fit my sketchbook and pencil case."

"Makes sense, Probie." Tony climbed to his feet, tossing his wrapper in the trash before grabbing some files off of his desk. "Since we're reviewing cold cases today, I had an idea. Some of these computer generated images just don't look right."

McGee automatically took the offered files and started flipping through them. "Sometimes the layers don't line up just right."

"Exactly, the program is good at the individual pieces, but the final version is just kinda creepy."

From his desk, Gibbs had been listening intently. "Where are you going with this, DiNozzo?"

"We haven't gotten anywhere with some of these cases and maybe part of the problem is that we're trying to jog people's memories with pictures that just don't quite look human." Tony took one of the pictures out of the top file in McGee's hand and held it up for Gibbs and Ziva to see. "How can we ask a civilian to remember someone they saw ten years ago when all we have to show them is this?"

His senior agent had a point, Gibbs had to admit. The newer digitally created images were better, but the older ones were choppy and had a blank look about the eyes. "So, what do you suggest?"

"What if we were able to show them a more human drawing?" Tony glanced over at McGee before continuing. "Yesterday we saw how quickly people respond to a real drawing. I'm not sure a computer generated image of Martinez would have the same results. How about if McGee draws a few of these before we hit the sidewalk again?"

"That's some good thinking, DiNozzo. What about it, McGee, can you give it a try?"

"Sure." Tim was already pulling out his supplies. "Just remember, we don't know how the courts will take an identification made from a sketch of a sketch. If we ID somebody, we'll need some solid evidence to back it up."

"Fair enough." Gibbs turned back to Tony. "Narrow that stack down to two or three for McGee to focus on."

The praise and the vote of confidence had Tony buzzing and he quickly laid out the three files he'd chosen last night for McGee to start on.

After a quick glance through all three files, McGee started with the suspect in a fifteen year old murder. Just days before he was scheduled to ship out to basic training, Seaman Recruit George Kuhn had been gunned down in the alley behind his mother's home. With no witness besides his ill mother and no recovered slug or murder weapon, it quickly became a cold case. Ruby Kuhn had succumbed to cancer just a few months after the death of her only child, leaving them with nothing but a rough image the original agent had pulled together the morning after the murder.

With a plan to clean up the original image and to also create one showing their suspect as he could look today, McGee got busy. It was after his third trip to the scanner that Tony got curious.

"Why do you keep scanning your drawing?" While the others listened, Tony sat on the edge of McGee's desk to watch more closely, so Tim spread out the different versions he was working on.

"Basic features don't change too much, but it has been fifteen years, so our forty year old suspect is now fifty-five."

"You're doing an older version?" Tony picked up one of the drawings to take a closer look. The dark eyes of the suspect were now half hidden by heavy wrinkles and drooping eyelids while a receding hairline showed more of the forehead. "After all this time, that's probably a good idea. So, you drew out the features that don't change and then worked on copies instead of redrawing it every time. Pretty smart."

McGee blushed slightly and ducked his head. "Bone structure doesn't really change, so there was no point in taking the time to draw it over and over again."

"Okay, but what's the thing with the teeth?" One of the sketches still on the desk showed their suspect with the beginnings of better teeth than in the original.

"There's a note in the file." McGee sorted through the pages, finding the one he was looking for before handing it to Tony. "Special Agent Mike Franks commented that the teeth better be right, because that's the first thing people noticed about the picture."

Hearing his old mentor's name stopped Gibbs cold. "You're working on one of Mike's old cases?"

Picking that file had been easy for him, and he was sure it was the same for DiNozzo, so Tim gave his friend a quick smile before he explained. "We figured that he and Seaman Apprentice Kuhn both deserved a second chance at closure."

"Thanks, guys."

The rare praise was always a thrill for both of them, but Tony was rather intrigued by the deepening red tinge to McGee's ears as he went back to drawing, this time on the sketch that assumed their suspect finally had some overdue dental work.

-NCIS-

When the work day ended, the team was happy to leave, eager to start their weekend. The three younger members of the team were roped into an evening at the bar by Abby, who was feeling neglected. Once they had left, Gibbs hurried home to start on the picture frame.

The drinks had barely been ordered before Abby glared at the rest of them. "I didn't get a single visit today, I hate cold cases."

"Sorry, Abs, we were all busy watching McGee draw." Tony shrugged as he tossed a peanut into his mouth.

She stared at Tony for a minute before turning to Tim. "It's true, you really drew that picture of Martinez yesterday? The likeness was amazing, McGee."

"Only because Tony was able to get those kids to remember a lot of details. Speaking of which, when did you get so good at handling kids, DiNozzo?" Tim was grinning ear to ear as he turned their attention to his friend.

Tony glanced at the two women before turning his attention back to McGee. "Guess learning new skills is a good thing all the way around, for all of us."

"Here, here." Tim tilted his wine glass enough to tap it against Tony's beer bottle. "Now, let's see if we can solve Mike's last case next week."

Ziva remembered the look on Gibbs' face when he realized what they were working on, and held her glass up. "I will drink to that."

-NCIS-

The frame had been built before Gibbs went to bed, allowing the glue to dry overnight, so first thing in the morning, he was back down in the basement, mounting the painting securely in the hand picked oak panels. It was when the painting was hanging on the wall that he realized there was a problem. The phone rang twice before it was answered on the other end.

_~Boss?~_

"Morning, McGee. I hung your painting and now my walls look dingy."

-NCIS-

Cracking open one eye, McGee fumbled for his phone. When he saw the name on the display, he was sure the team's weekend off had just been canceled. "Boss?"

_~Morning, McGee. I hung your painting and now my walls look dingy.~_

Tim stared at his phone for a second. "Dingy, Boss?"

_~Hasn't been painted since the ex-wife redecorated. Didn't notice it before.~_

Swinging his feet off the bed, Tim sat up, glancing at his clock. "Since we're not on call, you want some help painting the walls this weekend?"

_~You mind?~_

He was already pulling some old clothes out of his dresser. "No problem, we can probably get most of the prep work done before the paint store opens. Do you want me to stop and pick up some donuts?"

_~You got any more of that bacon?~_

Laughing, Tim detoured through the kitchen. "Sure. Okay, let me take Jethro out and then I'll be over."

_~The yard's fenced, so bring him with you.~_

-NCIS-

It wasn't until after he'd ended the call that Gibbs realized it was only 0600. Luckily, Tim was more like him and could hit the ground running first thing in the morning, but under the circumstances, Gibbs figured he owed the man a fresh pot of coffee.

True to his word, McGee arrived a short time later, the dog much more interested in the bag he was carrying than the new surroundings. Laughing, Tim set the bacon on the counter before taking Jethro outside.

The two men quickly fell into a comfortable routine, Gibbs mixing up the eggs and dipping the bread, while Tim got the bacon seasoned and into the broiler. The left handed McGee and the right handed Gibbs naturally worked at opposite sides of the stove, easily reaching over and under each other when necessary.

At the table, Gibbs found their watcher amusing, the canine head moving up and down, following his hand as he enjoyed the bacon. Chuckling, Gibbs' hand movements grew more exaggerated and Jethro pranced the full width of the French doors, his nose pressed against the glass. McGee looked over his shoulder to see the dog's antics before shaking his head. "You're probably going to regret doing that, Boss."

Gibbs didn't see the harm until the weak morning light finally broke through the clouds and hit the glass, illuminating the countless doggie nose prints and streaks that now adorned the lower half of the glass doors. "Oh."


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n - Loved, loved, loved the episode this week. I knew McGee's father was a hard-*ss. It fits perfectly with how I saw the relationship, so I'm thrilled and have plot bunnies up the wazoo. **

**This chapter got to be too big, so I've split it in half. That means a chapter tomorrow for sure, cause it's done and I'm working on chapter 6. This story wants to be as long as _Backfired_, but it's for a challenge due in less than a week. Let's see which side wins out.**

* * *

><p>"So, one of the ex-wives painted this white?" McGee was bent over, removing the light switch covers, and saw the remains of a rich yellow ochre.<p>

Gibbs was on a ladder, taping off the window mouldings. "Yep, came home from an assignment and my walls were white, most of my hardwood floors were covered with beige carpet, all the original light fixtures were down and my oak kitchen cabinets were all replaced with those white ones."

"Boy, she didn't like color, did she? You're lucky she didn't paint over the wainscoting."

"She didn't like much of anything, including me."

Tim replaced the screws so they wouldn't get lost before turning around. "So why'd you marry her?"

If he were honest with himself, Gibbs had asked himself the same question many times, starting on their wedding day. "Damned if I know, sounded like a good idea at the time."

McGee could think of a lot of come backs, but decided to keep those thoughts to himself. "So, what colors are you going with now?"

Gibbs looked surprised at the question. "I guess the white's fine."

"But do you like it?"

"Not really, hate the carpet more." He continued before McGee could say anything. "I'm no designer, Tim, I wouldn't have the first idea where to start."

Walking over to join Gibbs, who was now leaning against the back of the sofa, Tim thought carefully about what to say, wanting to make his point without insulting him. "From the outside, this is a beautifully original, classic Craftsman home, and the bones are still here on the inside."

"Yeah."

"Was it Diane or Stephanie?"

"Diane."

"So, she's moved on through husband number two and now she's latched onto number three, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"She probably likes the fact that you come home every night to the changes she made to your home."

Gibbs bit back a snort as he realized how much that sounded like Diane. "Probably, so what do you suggest?"

"It's kind of like dealing with bullies. Sometimes the best revenge is moving on and doing it well. If we're going to paint anyway, why not go ahead and use colors you like?" Tim watched as Gibbs slowly nodded his head as he came to a decision.

"All right, let's do it. Come on." Much to McGee's surprise, he headed for the basement stairs instead of the front door. Down in the basement, Gibbs was opening boxes, finding whatever he was looking for in the third one. "Down but not gone, take a look."

Tim leaned close, peering into the box where an assortment of traditional bronze lights with stained glass or mica shades were waiting to be restored to the original glory. "There's your colors, Gibbs."

Gibbs brushed some of the dust off to show the swirls of blues and greens in the hand made glass. "The minute she saw these lights, Shannon fell in love with this house."

There was a softness in his expression that Tim had never seen. "You and I can rewire them easily enough and one of the ladies at the art studio restores stained glass. I've seen her work, she's good."

"Okay." Gibbs nodded again, more to himself. "Let's do this."

Once upstairs, Gibbs identified the original location of each of the fixtures as Tim cleaned them enough to photograph the colors of the glass, giving them something to match at the paint store after they dropped the glass shades off at the studio.

Much to Gibbs' surprise, the store carried a line of colors based on the traditional paint choices of the Craftsman era. Comparing those to the pictures on McGee's phone, the choices were easy and they were back at the house in under two hours with paint for each room downstairs.

"You know, the dining room isn't that bad." Gibbs wasn't sure exactly when the dining room, kitchen, bathroom and hallways were added into the painting plan.

"But what will it look like next to a freshly painted living room?"

Gibbs looked around. Painting the hallways meant painting the wall of the stairway. "We're going to end up painting this whole damn house."

"We can probably get away with not painting the basement." Tim held back his laughter until he felt the hand smack against the back of his head.

"Funny, McGee." Gibbs started to spread out a drop cloth, then froze. "I hate this beige carpet, so why am I protecting it?"

"What condition is the hardwood in?"

"I refinished the floors myself about six months before she put in this damn carpet."

"Let's take a look."

Gibbs carefully pried off a section of baseboard nearest the most worn area of carpet, knowing that was where the most damage to the original floor would be found. The pad had done its job and, once the tack strips were removed, the floor would only need a good cleaning and a fresh coat of wax.

The ceilings were first to be painted. Gibbs wasn't convinced the different cans for each room were totally necessary until they started on the walls of the living room after lunch. The pale blue on the ceiling next to the deeper blue on the walls gave the room a richness he hadn't been expecting. The dining room came alive with a mossy green, slightly darker and more dramatic than the living room. Once the buckskin color went up in the hallway Gibbs could imagine how those walls would glow under the amber mica light shades.

Pulling it all together, McGee used the buckskin color to paint the insides of the various archways between the rooms and Gibbs could see why the artist had steered him to those particular shades. "These look really good together, Tim. I never could have picked all of these colors on my own."

"Guess all the years of Maggie beating color theory into my head is paying off. Do you want to start painting the kitchen tonight, or start fresh in the morning when we'll have better light?"

Gibbs looked around. The entry, the hallways, the living room and the dining room were finished. The bathroom was too small for both of them to work in, and the kitchen was going to take a lot of precise brush work to trim in around the cabinetry. McGee was right, they'd need good light while they painted. "I think we can call this a good day's work. Let's grab some dinner, you got some clean clothes with you?"

"My go bag is out in the car."

"Great, you ever been to Fratelli's? I think we've earned a nice meal."

Showered and changed, Jethro watered and fed, the two men drove the short distance to the nearby Italian restaurant. Even though it was a Saturday night, a table was quickly found for their regular customer and his guest. A waitress brought drinks and a basket of bread sticks along with the menus.

Tim scanned the menu. "So, what's good here?"

"Everything, I usually get the steak, though."

Normally, McGee would have been nervous having dinner alone with his boss, but between a hard day working together and a glass of wine, he was getting quite relaxed. "Why am I not surprised? I've heard about your cowboy style steaks."

Inwardly, Gibbs cringed at the realization that he'd never invited McGee over for anything except work, both on and off the job. "Tomorrow, when we untape everything, you'll get to see for yourself."

"That sounds really good, Gibbs, thanks."

Gibbs decided he liked seeing that smile on Tim's face and silently vowed to make it appear more often.

As promised, Gibbs ordered their signature New York steak with fresh basil, garlic and red crusted peppers in a light tomato sauce, swapping out the side of spaghetti with a half order of lasagna. McGee went with the seafood, opting for their Scampi Margarita in a cream sauce along with the fire roasted vegetables. When Gibbs told him that he'd never tried the shrimp, Tim immediately offered a piece and received a chunk of the steak in exchange. Over the course of the evening, Gibbs laughed harder than he'd done in ages as he heard about Tim's first few weekends in rural Alabama with Preston's family while on college break, and then shared a few stories of his own about stunts while in boot camp. Both men claimed to be too full for dessert with their coffee, but when the hostess set down one order of tiramisu for them to split, neither argued.

By the end of the evening, Tim almost dreaded leaving, afraid that the friendship that was developing would wither overnight, but Gibbs readily accepted his offer to return in the morning to continue working.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday started off much like Saturday. With no bacon left in his apartment kitchen, McGee stopped at a local bakery. Armed with an apple raisin strudel, he and Jethro arrived just as Gibbs was setting up the coffee maker on a table he'd dragged into the living room. "Good morning, Gibbs."

"Hey, Tim, perfect timing."

After a quick breakfast, the two men started taping the kitchen as Gibbs peppered McGee with questions about any upcoming painting workshops he was hoping to attend.

"I've got one tentatively planned for the weekend after next. I know we're on call, but it's at the studio and Maggie knows that I might have to leave half way through."

"It doesn't cause a problem?"

McGee shook his head as he finished taping the last of the cabinets. "They're used to it by now and I'll just use some open studio time to finish it up later. I do it all the time."

The comfortable rhythm of the day before quickly resumed as they again painted the ceiling first. A lighter version of the buckskin color from the hallway was used and gave a warmth to the kitchen as it reflected the weak morning light.

Of all the rooms they'd done, this ceiling gave the most dramatic and quick change. "It looks brighter in here, even with the darker color."

"Your ex used a white with a blue undertone, that makes a room look cold, especially in the winter when the light from the sun is weaker." It was the same ceiling color Tim had chosen for the downstairs bathroom and the younger man took his stepladder and paint tray in to quickly paint the last of the ceilings while Gibbs finished the kitchen and utility room.

"Hey, McGee? What is this and why do I have one?"

Curious, Tim came out of the bathroom, paintbrush in hand. Gibbs was standing the the door of the utility room, staring at a textured, circular pan in his hands. He couldn't help but laugh at the expression on the older man's face. "It's a bundt pan, Gibbs. It's to bake cakes."

The pan was dusty from being shoved on a top shelf so Gibbs dropped it in the sink to wash later before he started on the kitchen walls.

The orange tone of the kitchen wall paint had made him a little nervous when McGee pointed it out in the store. However, once Gibbs saw it up on the wall, he knew that Tim had been right once again. Not a feminine peach as he'd feared, the paint dried to an earthy color that reminded him of the Southwest and was a perfect foil to the greens of the dining room.

Once the first coat was done in the kitchen, they took a break, going back into the living room for coffee and to divide what was left of the strudel. McGee moved stuff off the couch so they'd have someplace to sit and Gibbs glared at the old thing as he handed McGee a cup. "That sofa looks like crap now."

"Gibbs, that sofa hasn't looked good since the 60's."

"Yeah." He looked around. The second hand furniture that had been serviceable before now looked like an insult to the home. "I'm going to have to replace all my furniture, aren't I?"

Tim felt a twinge of guilt for triggering the process. "Not all of it. You've got some good wood pieces, but the upholstered pieces and the rest could use some updating... or something older."

"Antiques? I don't want to spend thousands on something that's not even comfortable." Gibbs remembered McGee's detailed knowledge of antiques and collectibles that led to the arrest of Mickey Stokes in the case that forced Gibbs out of retirement. "What have you got in mind?"

McGee was searching for something on his phone. When he found it, he handed the phone over to Gibbs. "I saw this ad last night."

Glasses were necessary to see the small image clearly, but once Gibbs had them he was looking at a set of two oversized chairs in the traditional Mission style of the Craftsman era. Loose cushions covered traditional oak slats in the deep chairs. The ad stated that some repair work would be necessary as the wooden joints were loose and the fabric worn. The best part was the price at less than eighty dollars for the set. "I'd have to hire somebody to make new cushions, but the rest would be a quick fix." Knowing how good of a deal it was, Gibbs quickly had his own phone out to call the number in the ad and twenty minutes later, they were on their way to pick up the chairs.

The young couple with the modern taste and the house full of inherited furniture had more treasures and it took several trips to bring back not only the large chairs and a matching table, but a complete oak dining room set and two area rugs. A second scan of the online ads gave Gibbs a wheat colored sofa. Traditional in shape and design, it was as comfortable to lay on as it was to sit.

Once they had the new furniture stacked in the living room, the last coat of paint was added to the kitchen before they headed back out with the cushions. This time it was Gibbs that surprised McGee as he went straight to a nearby fabric store. Of the men he'd lost during his time in the Marines, five had been married. Several of the widows had remarried, but Gibbs kept track of the others, making sure they were all right. Karen Campbell had settled in Virginia and opened a fabric store with her sister, Gibbs spending many nights all those years ago laying floor and wiring lights before their grand opening.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, as I live and breathe, what are you doing here?" She didn't wait for an answer before hugging him.

Gibbs kissed her cheek before pulling back. "Hey, Karen, I've got some cushions that need to be redone."

She looked him up and down. "Cushions? You? Don't tell me you went and got married again."

"Nah, Tim talked me into doing the house for myself"

"Well, good for him; now, show me what you've got." Karen was all business and when Tim laid out the color samples for the first floor, along with a pillow from the new couch, she immediately started pulling fabrics. Under her supervision, Gibbs narrowed the pile down to four bolts of fabric that he liked, including one floral, much to McGee's amusement.

Despite his amusement, one of Gibbs' fabrics caught Tim's eye for another project and he tapped the swirling leaves in various shades of greens. "Dining room chairs." He showed Karen a picture of the chairs and she quickly explained how to remove and recover the the current padded seats that were in fine condition, just the wrong color.

Karen insisted on making the chair cushions herself and easily talked Gibbs into adding fabric bands to some ready made curtains to tie it all together.

-NCIS-

Remembering the promised steak dinner, Gibbs stopped at the grocery store on their way back to the house. Tim took a small detour down the baking aisle, meeting up with Gibbs at the meat counter.

Gibbs looked over at the boxes McGee had in his basket. "What's all that?"

"Well, since you've got a bundt pan..." Grinning, Tim didn't say anything else on the matter, but Gibbs was okay with that. He was getting some sort of cake, that was good enough for him.

Back at the house, McGee spent a few minutes throwing a ball for Jethro while Gibbs measured the windows for Karen and called her back with the sizes needed. When Gibbs joined them a few minutes later, Jethro immediately brought the ball to him and McGee laughed. "He likes your arm better than mine."

The dog had thoroughly enjoyed the weekend, between the large yard to explore and the breaks that both men had taken to play with him. Laughing, Gibbs automatically threw the ball, ruffling the thick fur when Jethro bounded back and dropped it again at Gibbs' feet.

"Glad to know my years of high school football paid off." Gibbs straightened up and threw the ball again. "Karen gave me the name of a charity that can use my old furniture and even the carpets. Her son is coming by to help us pull them up."

Back inside the house, Tim preheated the oven and washed the pan before mixing up his cake batter. He only had one reason to using the specialty pan, but it was a quick and easy recipe and one of his favorites. It was in the oven and baking before Robert Campbell Jr. arrived with a large truck.

The furniture was quickly loaded before they started on the carpet. Baseboards off, they were rolling it up when Robert stopped, his nose turning him towards the kitchen. "Man, Mr. Gibbs, something smells good."

"Sure does, Robbie." Gibbs grinned at the young man before turning to McGee. "Somebody is just full of surprises."

McGee blushed and shrugged. "It's nothing fancy, guys, just a butterscotch cake."

It might not have been fancy, but Gibbs was certainly looking forward to eating it, so after he and Robbie made their delivery, he invited the young man back inside to have a slice of cake and some coffee. "Hey, Tim, is that cake ready?"

"You bet." Suspicious of what would happen, McGee had been busy while they'd been gone. After the first coat of paint in the bathroom, he removed the center leaf of the old maple table, making it small enough to be set up in the kitchen. The coffee maker was then returned to its familiar spot on the counter. By the time Gibbs had the coffee poured, three slices of the cake were on plates and ready to eat. It might have only been a thirty minute break, but McGee learned almost as much as Robbie did as Gibbs told stories about his time serving with the senior Robert Campbell.

After Robbie left, the two men returned to work, Gibbs removing the tack strips and cleaning the floors while McGee returned to painting the bathroom. This was the only room downstairs where the woodwork had been painted white, so a deeper, clearer green had been chosen. Not blue enough to be considered a hunter green, the pine color popped against the lightly tinted ceiling and the white wood. This was by far the most awkward room to paint and just as he was finishing, Tim's hand started to cramp. He was still rubbing it, trying to straighten his fingers when Gibbs poked his head in to check on the progress.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Hand cramp."

Instead of nodding and turning away, as Tim was expecting, Gibbs came into the small room, crowding up behind McGee. Looking over Tim's shoulder, Gibbs reached around him and took his hand, massaging it gently. Starting with Tim's wrist, down onto his palm, Gibbs finished with the fingers, one by one before sliding his hands up to Tim's shoulders to work out all the knots he could find.

"Mmm, that feels good." The warm hands had melted more than just the tight muscles and reminded him of so much more.

Gibbs squeezed his shoulders one last time before pulling away. "As much as you've worked this weekend, it was the least I could do. You about ready to eat? I'll get a fire started for the steaks."

"Yeah, sure." McGee didn't move until he heard the back door open as Gibbs went out for firewood. Momentarily alone in the house, he leaned against the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he remembered the last time such strong hands had touched him. Forcing back the memories, he gathered his supplies up and went out to wash his brushes.

He'd put the potatoes in the oven when the cake had come out, now they were wrapped in foil and set aside. Gibbs had muttered about it when Tim put fresh broccoli in the cart, but he was determined to show the older man that they could taste better than the results of being boiled into mush. A toss in olive oil, some garlic and seasoning, and the broccoli spears went into the still hot oven.

"Hey, I think there's a bottle of wine over the fridge." Gibbs' voice carried well and sent McGee exploring the depths of the overhead cabinet. Behind several ancient Tupperware containers he found a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and dusted it off.

By unspoken agreement, they broke in the new dining room, setting the table formally and toasting their success with the house. Gibbs secretly enjoyed watching Tim enjoy the steak and Tim wisely didn't comment when Gibbs took seconds of the broccoli. Instead, they talked about a variety of subjects, discovering that they were both hockey fans and both much preferred books to movies. Gibbs confessed his secret love of 1950's westerns and cheesy science fiction. McGee shocked him by rattling off the names of most of the lesser-known authors of the era.

The bottle of wine was empty, the left-over steak and the bones went to Jethro and the two men retired to the living room with coffee and cake. Tim looked around at all their progress. "It's really looking good in here."

"Yeah, it is." Gibbs' smile turned conspiratorial. "Almost makes me want to come up with an excuse to get Diane over here to see it."

Tim had to laugh. "Well, if you do, tell me first and I'll wire up a hidden camera. That's a moment we need to record."

The two men washed and dried the dishes before McGee and his dog left for the night.

Alone, Gibbs wandered through his house, enjoying the peaceful feeling. The colors, for all their richness, were remarkably soothing. The one room on the main floor they had not touched was the former guest room. Unable to bear the memories of his late wife and child, Gibbs had never returned to the large bedroom upstairs, instead becoming a guest in his own home. He had only ventured upstairs a few times over the many years, but tonight he found himself on the stairs. He didn't stay long in their old bedroom, he never did, but he brought down a box of photographs before heading off to bed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had two good night's sleep in a row, but he wasn't going to complain.

* * *

><p><strong>an - Don't worry, Ziva will be asking for the butterscotch cake recipe; I'll let you guys listen in.**


	6. Chapter 6

Monday's were Ziva's morning to provide breakfast and, following in Tony's footsteps, she did not make the usual stop. The weekend provided her a chance to spend time in the kitchen and the smiles when she unveiled a plate of homemade muffins were worth the two hours she'd devoted to the task on Sunday afternoon. "Good morning, Gibbs, did you have a good weekend."

"Sure did. McGee came over and we got most of the first floor painted."

Tony leaned over to snag a second muffin. "Oh, man, Probie. An entire weekend of Navaho White, you have my sympathy."

"I managed." When Tim didn't contradict Tony, Gibbs quickly looked up to catch the smirk on the younger man's face. Curious, he decided not to correct him.

After they were done eating, Tony and Ziva left with the updated sketches for the cold case, hoping they would help somebody's memory. Tim started running new searches on reported crimes in the area spanning several weeks before and after the murder of George Kuhn. With the rest of the team working, Gibbs went downstairs to check in with Abby.

"Hey, Abs, find anything new?"

"The physical evidence just arrived like an hour ago, Gibbs. I haven't even gotten past the foreplay yet." Abby was munching on the muffin Ziva and Tony had dropped off. "I hear you painted the house this weekend."

"Yeah, it needed it." He wasn't sure what reason McGee had for not mentioning the color change, but it seemed to amuse the other man so he was willing to wait.

Abby shook her head as she popped the last piece of muffin in her mouth. "You need to learn to live a little, Gibbs, instead of spending the weekend alone with a paint brush."

"I wasn't alone, McGee came over and helped, even brought the dog with him."

"Really? That's great." She looked a little too pleased, but Gibbs didn't think about it too much before heading to the top floor to review the plans for the upcoming week with Director Vance.

-NCIS-

Cold cases and paperwork kept them steadily busy for the rest of the day and Gibbs promptly released the team at the normal end of shift. He had no reason to keep them longer and since he now knew that Monday nights were open studio time for McGee, he was more than willing to let them go. That also freed up Gibbs for an errand of his own.

It had been purely an investigator's instinct that caused him to notice the name of the meat shop printed on the bacon package, but now he knew. McGee's next crop of tomatoes should be ripe either Tuesday or Wednesday and he wanted to be ready for them. With two pounds of bacon safely tucked in his refrigerator, along with a smoked dog bone, Gibbs' next stop was to pick up the new wiring needed for the lights.

The next morning they hit the ground running with the report of a murdered sailor. It didn't take long to determine that a sailor's uniform does not a sailor make. After a brief lesson to teach some local LEO's the difference between real dog tags and the fake ones from a vending machine, the team split up. Gibbs and McGee took the truck back to the Yard, while DiNozzo and David took the sedan to meet up with the detective Mike had worked with on the Kuhn case.

"So, you starting a new painting?"

Tim smiled as he leaned back in the seat, enjoying the rare relaxing drive with Gibbs behind the wheel. "Actually, I'm working on one I started a few weeks ago, but last night it finally started coming together."

"It wasn't, before?" Gibbs glanced over for a moment before returning his attention to the road.

"I changed one of the background elements."

"And now it's right?"

Tim thought back. He'd been mostly pleased with the large seascape from a technical aspect, but it didn't speak to him on a personal level – not until he blocked out the schooner in the distance and replaced it with a familiar sailboat, named for a special little girl. "And now it's perfect, or at least getting close."

The rest of Tuesday was spent providing support for another team's op, after a long day of watching little activity, they were glad to leave work behind. Gibbs stopped at home long enough to grab the package from the meat market before heading over to McGee's. He thought about calling, but didn't actually pull out his phone until he parked next to the silver Porsche.

Upstairs, Tim was just putting dinner in the oven when his phone rang. Not even looking at the caller ID, he juggled the phone as he slid the baking sheet onto the rack. "Yeah, McGee."

_~Hey, you home? All right if I stop by?~_

"Umm, yeah, sure." There was a knock at the door as he spoke and wondering how he'd gotten so popular, Tim opened the door to find Gibbs standing there, still on the phone with him. He couldn't help but laugh as he disconnected the call. "Made good time."

"I brought bacon." Gibbs held the package up, laughing as the four-legged Jethro scrambled to his feet, happily barking. "Yep, I brought you something too, boy."

Tail wagging, Jethro retreated to his corner with his bone as McGee broke the bad news. "Tomatoes aren't ripe yet." When he saw the look on Gibbs' face, he offered a consolation prize. "One more day should do it, but I've got food in the oven and there's plenty."

"You sure?" Suddenly Gibbs felt guilty about just arriving with the expectations of being fed, even as he draped his coat across the back of Tim's computer chair.

Tim wasn't upset at all. "I'm sure. It's kind of nice to not have to eat alone every night." As he spoke, McGee started picking up some papers off the counter, wadding them up to toss. Gibbs snatched one page out of his hands and began to smooth it.

"What are you throwing this away for?"

Trying not to laugh, Tim raised an eyebrow. The paper Gibbs was carefully straightening was one he'd used to work out his color plan for the seascape. Dark blue-greens of a moonlit ocean, lightened through the waves he'd roughed in and accented with foam patterns, he'd used the page closely until he was satisfied with his palette and moved onto his large canvas. He'd never considered that someone might actually want the miniature painting, especially the someone who would eventually be the recipient of the finished painting. He tried to think of what to say that wouldn't give it away.

"It's just a little practice piece, Gibbs. I'm done with it."

"This can be trimmed up and framed." Decision made, Gibbs laid it on top of his jacket before checking out what was in the oven. "Mmm, smells good."

Tim just shook his head as he handed Gibbs a bowl. "Only takes fifteen minutes to bake, so why don't you pick all the cherry ripe tomatoes and I'll make a quick salad with them." Gibbs had the bowl about half full when McGee spoke again. "Pick a half dozen basil leaves while you're at it."

Gibbs sniffed at several of the herbs before he pointed out one. "This?"

"Yep." Tim was pouring some ready made salad dressing over small pieces of soft mozzarella when Gibbs stepped back into the kitchen with his fresh harvest. A quick rinse and the tomatoes were tossed in with the mozzarella. The basil joined in after being rolled and sliced into thin ribbons.

"That looked pretty easy."

"With the hours we keep, I learned to cook quick and easy." The oven beeped and Tim pulled out the baking sheet. While it cooled a few minutes, he found two beers and opened them. Gibbs took the offered beers and the salad bowl to the breakfast bar before sitting at what he now considered 'his' seat. Tim loaded several of the pastries on each of their plates and joined him a moment later.

They were hot, but Gibbs still pulled one of the hot pastries apart to take a look inside. Shaped like a croissant, layers of sauce covered meat were in between flaky pastry. The melted cheese stretched between the torn pieces and he could smell the barbeque sauce that coated the shredded chicken. Even before it was really cool enough to comfortably eat, he popped the smaller chunk in his mouth, enjoying the flavor before cooling his mouth down with a swallow of beer. "Not bad, Tim, not bad at all."

"Thanks, I can make a batch in just twenty minutes and freeze the leftovers. Makes it handy for days we really work late." Tim chuckled as Gibbs downed the rest of his in just a few bites. "Assuming I do have leftovers."

He received an unrepentant grin in return as Gibbs continued to eat. "Well," he paused to lick his fingers. "I do believe I'll owe you another lunch or two." After making that pronouncement, Gibbs walked over to the pan sitting on top of the stove and refilled his plate.

Once dinner was done, a second round of beers was opened and McGee turned on the television to the hockey game before they settled in the living room. As the announcer rambled on about the current season, McGee looked over to Gibbs.

"Abby's going to start pestering you about your birthday soon."

"I expect her perched on my desk Monday morning. Got any suggestions how to distract her?" It was an old game; she'd try to talk him into a birthday party, while he'd continue to sidestep the issue and hope for a big case.

"You could really throw her for a loop this year."

Spotting the amused glint in Tim's eye, Gibbs leaned closer. "What have you got in mind?"

"Keep putting her off, like normal, until the day before your birthday and then invite the whole gang over. Can you imagine the shock when they walk into the house?"

Gibbs almost choked on his beer as he visualized the looks on their faces, especially Tony and Abby. "That's why you didn't tell the team we changed the colors in the house?"

"Some things are better to show than to tell." Tim waited, watching as Gibbs thought about it.

"Karen should have the cushions and curtains done in a few days." Gibbs was nodding as he talked.

Tim had already checked on the glass repairs for the lights. "Stained glass repairs will be done on Saturday."

"That still leaves us plenty of time to get everything wired and back up. Guess I'm celebrating my birthday this year." Just for the shock value, he was almost tempted to include Fornell.

Tim was happy to see the older man actually taking the time to enjoy something in his life. "We're going to need earplugs when Abby sees what we did."

On the television the referee dropped the puck and the two men settled in to watch the game.


End file.
